


The Queer Eye for a Once-Straight Guy

by bay_sik



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Humor, M/M, NCT being the confident and panicked gay meme, maybe idk, secret endgame (for now), taeyong doesn't know what he's doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bay_sik/pseuds/bay_sik
Summary: If Taeyong is one thing: he's committed. So when he finally comes out, he enlists the help of a friend to ensure his transition to homosexuality is as seamless and natural as he envisioned it. But here's another thing: relationships of all orientations are Hard and Taeyong is a Dumbass.





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first fic for a group that I've loved (against my will at times) for years, NCT!

Taeyong grips Ten’s hand so hard it might leave bruises, but he can’t let up, not with the tension in his body being the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him sane. Ten, for his part, is doing a good job of not complaining. He shifts uneasily against the floor of Taeyong’s bedroom—knocking into the old GameCube under the bed that should have busted about nine years ago—but that’s all he’s done in the ten minutes that Taeyong has been sitting in front of him, silent.

“Tae—”

“I’m gay,” Taeyong bursts out, surprising the both of them.

Ten blinks rapidly. Taeyong feels like he’s going to die, like his body will literally disintegrate from the weight dissolving from his shoulders and the burn of apprehension clawing at his gut.

“Really?” Ten finally says. He squeezes Taeyong’s hand in encouragement.

“I like boys,” Taeyong whispers, like it’s a secret that can poison him if he says it too loudly. Ten snorts unhelpfully.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?” Taeyong hisses. It borders on a whine, making Taeyong feel a dozen years younger and like he’s complaining of a scrape on his knee.

“It’s just,” Ten finally manages to free his fingers, bringing his hand up to wave in front of his face. “ _Boys_. You sound like a teenage girl.”

A flash of something hot and irritable runs down Taeyong’s spine. It’s the twenty-first century; all his gay friends came out in middle school, comfortable with their preferences and absolutely positive they wanted nothing but dick for the rest of their lives by the time their voices cracked. He’s not sure exactly how one comes out at the tender age of twenty-four. So, excuse him for not being able to articulate himself very well.

“Men,” Taeyong says hotly. “Fine. I like men, alright?”

Ten shrugs.

“Fine. That’s great, bro.”

He flops back to watch the rest of their episode of Sherlock on Taeyong’s bed. It takes a few minutes for Taeyong to stop blinking at him, ready for Ten to suddenly fly into a rage or start pestering him with a million questions. A few more minutes goes by, and it starts to dawn on him that this is really going to be the climax (or anti-climax, as it were) of the night. Taeyong feels the stick up his ass give way, and he settles back down against the edge of his mattress, a long, slow breath leaking out of his lungs.

That wasn’t so bad.

Maybe this gay stuff won’t be to hard.

* * *

 

 

Taeyong realizes his colossal misjudgment three weeks later. The news of his ‘coming out’ has slowly circulated around his friends enough that it’s common knowledge by now.

The rest of the guys are cool, and some of them don’t fall on the straight and narrow either. And they’re, well, guys. The need to ask unnecessary or potentially uncomfortable questions is non-existent.

Until it is.

“I have an extra pair of tickets to the ZionT tour stop next month,” Johnny says, slurping around his noodles. The sauce splashes around his lips, making Taeyong wince. Taeil is starting to run out of rugs and odd pieces of furniture to cover the stains from Johnny’s ramen nights.

“Anyone have a date they want to impress?” Taeil and Ten, both single, shake their heads. Yuta’s girlfriend is in Japan for the summer and might actually kill him if he goes without her. Sicheng says that he and Jaehyun already have plans that weekend. Johnny turns to Taeyong expectantly.

“What about you, hyung?”

Taeyong shrugs, feeling a prickle that comes with everyone’s attention.

“Um, not really.”

“Not really?” Yuta croons, shifting forward on his elbows. His signature smile is slick.

“Are you already lining up players on the other team?” Taeyong feels his ears get red.

“Um, not really.” He winces at the repetition. No one really believes him. Yuta starts crowing, turning to Sicheng and going on about how it isn’t fair to be able to pull from both genders. Johnny just shakes his head, like its a circus he didn't pay for but is enjoying anyway.

“I’ll save them for you, hyung,” he says, winking and switching to Korean, like it makes the favor even bigger. Taeyong tries to smile convincingly, and spasms when Taeil slaps him on the back. It’s like the pain of it reboots his brain, and something—a missing update—clicks into place when he starts whirring again, the others already moving onto the next subject and debating who has to go out and buy beer.

Right. Taeyong is gay. And he really, really doesn’t know how that works.

 

* * *

 

Taeyong tries to organize his thoughts as he stares at the tickets. Yuta ended up buying beer. Tons of it. Taeyong doesn’t really remember the tickets ending up in his jacket packet, but they’re crammed next to his wallet the next morning when he peels himself off the floor of his own apartment.

He could scalp them. But that’s a dick move and he’s trying his hardest these days to not be a dick. Plus, he’s not sure he could take Johnny’s disappointed dongsaeng stare that he’d serve the next time he saw him.

Taeyong taps the tickets against his mouth, the cool paper catching against his dry lips. He takes a break from thinking; showers, brushes his teeth, downs three glasses of water. He feels much more human by the time he plops himself down on the couch again.

The problem is, if Taeyong decides to find a date, he’s not going to half-ass it. The problem is more like a Russian nesting doll, in that in order to full-ass it, he’s going to have to find a boy—man. The little doll inside _that_ problem is: Taeyong has never in his heteronormalized life attempted to date a man.

“Fuck,” he groans, his neck falling back. “Fuck.” He starts digging out his phone from his sweatpants, an uneasy pit in the bottom of his stomach. He hates asking for help. Goddammit.

The phone rings for about five seconds before someone who sounds as hungover as Taeyong felt an hour ago picks up.

“Tae?”

“Hey, little shit.”

Jungwoo makes an affronted noise, and then a noise like he’s going to die very soon. “Is that how you greet everyone you haven’t spoken to in,” he pauses, attempting to count the months, “two years?”

“School. Busy.” Taeyong’s knee is bouncing. The tickets seem to have their own countdown clock, red and glaring like the buzzers at Mark’s basketball games. “You got time to hang out today? I kind of need a favor…”

 

* * *

 

 

Jungwoo is the only friend Mark made in high school that Taeyong could ever stand. He loved his brother, but those stupid guys on the basketball team weren’t the greatest influence. The worst Jungwoo ever did was constantly pester Taeyong to take him and Mark to the Korean neighborhood on the other side of the interstate for weekend bubble tea trips. (That, Taeyong could get behind.) And after Jungwoo ended up coming to the same university as Taeyong, he had a free ride home for school holidays. Win, win.

Jungwoo also happens to be gay, which is also working in Taeyong’s favor at the moment. He knew he liked that kid.

“You want me to…” Jungwoo pauses, wrapping his head around it. His cup is leaking condensation onto the wood grain table of an off-campus coffee shop that's dead in the early afternoon. Taeyong resists the urge to pointedly push the coaster to him. “Teach you—”

“How to date men, yes.”

Jungwoo blinks rapidly. He uses his t-shirt to wipe the creases of his eyes and it comes away slightly stained with the aftereffects of makeup.

“Taeyong, I don’t mean to question your resolve,” he starts. “But, I’ve known you for _years_. Are you…Are you sure?”

Taeyong shifts uncomfortably. He missed this questioning from Ten, from the others. He probably should have assumed that it wouldn’t be that easy every time. The people that have known him the longest will definitely, _definitely_ have doubts.  

“I know. But I _know_.”

“You were the straightest dude I ever saw,” Jungwoo is whispering, mostly to himself. He glances back up at Taeyong. “Did you like, experiment?”

Taeyong screws his mouth up. “No.” He grips the cold glass of his drink. It’s odd, trying to make the words combine in the right way to convince another person. It makes sense in his head. Mostly. “I just. I didn’t feel right, Jungie. It never did.”

Jungwoo taps the table in the silence that follows. “So, you decided that you're gay?”

“I’m gay,” Taeyong says defiantly. “Just because I haven’t dated a guy yet doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

Jungwoo purses his lips, but there’s a hint of a smile there too. “You ever think about what might happen if you date a guy, kiss a guy, _fuck_ a guy, and realize you made a mistake?”

Taeyong’s eyes flash. His chest feels hot from the little signs that grew too big in the past few months for him to ignore it, for him to keep it to himself. Like at the Olympic watch party Yuta threw: he spent the whole night trying to tear his eyes away from Yuzuru Hanyu's ass while the others were debating between Ashley Wagner and Mirai Nagasu (the fact that he can remember the names of most of the figure skating roster didn't boad to well for his case of heterosexuality to begin with). Like how he follows that plucky international student, Lucas or whatever, buying him coffee and treating him to lunches after their linguistics lectures got dismissed.  Like how he couldn't get it up with that Thai girl Ten had introduced him to a few months ago, no matter how much he told himself that it was just like any other time. His dick seemed to grow tired of his bullshit before the rest of him did.

“If I thought I was making a mistake, I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Jungwoo nods, impressed. But then he stops bobbing, another thought careening into his head. 

"Why do you even need my help?" he asks. "You're--don't get a big head or anything--you're hot as fuck. Just do it."

Taeyong scratches at the band of his watch, wanting the second hands to stop, or maybe reverse so he could go back and convince himself and move out of state rather than make the call and be sitting here in this moment. 

"You know," he takes a deep breath, like the words are sharp, grating against his throat as he draws them up. "You know how when you're thirteen, and you start liking girls--" He pauses at Jungwoo's dead-eyed expression. "Or like, you start  _noticing_  the kind of people that one might be attracted to. And everyone else is noticing them too, so it's exciting and you get to be stupid and awkward all together as you learn to be less stupid and awkward?"

"I acknowledge this line of thought," Jungwoo says, sipping his drink. "Continue."

"I didn't get that," Taeyong says, only the slightest tint of bitterness creeping onto his tongue. "And everything I did learn for girls is for shit now."

Jungwoo frowns. "I'm sure  _most_ things are the same. Like, the amount of overlap--"

"You know when you start a game tutorial?" Taeyong feels desperate, and Jungwoo shuts up. "You know when you complete that training with the stupid base avatar and then you think ' _okay this isn't awful, but I've got the general idea. I'll be fine_ '. And then you start  _playing_ the game and you realize that your avatar isn't the one you practiced with, and the game has all these different rules in the battle mode--which you  _didn't practice_ \--and the server is in China. So your playing against people in China, speaking Chinese."

Jungwoo darts his eyes around nervously. "Um. No?" He waves his hands when Taeyong slumps forward, his chest aching. "But I get it! I do. Mostly. You're out of your depth."

Taeyong balances his chin in his palm, scowling. His voice is much softer than he'd like it to be when he says, "I just...I want to be good at who I am, for once."

A beat of silence occupies the space between them for a few moments. A sniffling sound makes Taeyong look up at Jungwoo wipes his nose theatrically, fluttering his fingers like he's trying to keep tears at bay. The urge to roll his eyes is strong, but Taeyong figures he can just stay in this little puddle of self-pity until Jungwoo decides to stop being a stereotypical drama-queen.  

"I'm glad," Jungwoo says eventually, bringing Taeyong out of his funk. There's something akin to pride when Jungwoo meet his eyes, making Taeyong want to shy away from the attention. "Of course I'll help you get dick."

Taeyong apologies to the waitstaff about two thousand times as he helps them clean up coffee with dripping clothes and papertowels, but throwing his drink at Jungwoo's head was mostly worth it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also a first for me, because I'm going to do chapters and updates which I haven't done in y e a r s but this journey demands it. Thank you for reading! All your feedback is super appreciated~


	2. Que the Movie Makeover Montague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taeyong learns how to dress, but also that clothes do not a Good Gay make.

Taeyong doesn’t forget about his and Jungwoo’s arrangement. Quite the opposite. Taeyong has always been an overthinker. His mom likes to joke that he was that way even as a baby. During his parent’s yearly trip to Seoul, he insisted on being born two months early because, according to her, he thought it would be rude to not say hello to his extended family while he was close by.

Whenever Taeyong hears that story, he knows the truth: He just likes to makes things unnecessarily harder for himself down the road. His mistake as a fetus stuck him with mandatory service and his Korean name showing up first on every official document for the rest of his life. Mark is already graduated and in the “Real World” now, while Taeyong had to take a break after his sophomore year to go back and serve in the army.

Right. So. Taeyong hasn’t forgotten. But his experience of fixating on things has not led to a great track record. He simply throws himself into his school work, outlining a paper for his linguistics class and catching up on Japanese idioms that Yuta promised to help him out with but never did. He studies with Taeil a few times and tries to not look that cute Lucas kid directly in the eye. He’s positive the fact that he likes men it isn’t written on his forehead or anything, but you can never be too careful. His phone buzzes with a notification just as he’s finishing an email to his penpal from Osaka.

**Jungwho: you got time for a shopping trip today?**

**Taeyong: ...are we seriously going to have a shopping montague just bc i’m gay?**

**Jungwho: you wanted an expert.**

**Taeyong: This is the real Gay Agenda fox news is trying to tell us about**

**Jungwho: are you going to come or not? -_-**

**[Taeyong is typing]**

**[Taeyong is typing]**

**Taeyong: … ugh fine.**

**Jungwho: *-* 4pm at the ground entrance~**

 

* * *

 

 

Taeyong doesn’t _hate_ the mall. He’s just never gotten the concept of it. He much preferred the shopping streets in Hongdae or Myungdong when he got leave from the army. Even the smell--overpriced lemonade, burnt pretzels, floorwax and recycled air--makes him a little nauseous. He exhales loudly from his spot near the fountain, making a gaggle of teenage girls giggle at him. His shoulders bunch up. That’s another thing he doesn’t understand: the teenagers that roam in packs, not buying anything. Their only purpose, that Taeyong can discern, is gossiping loudly and laughing at him.

Jungwoo shows up five minutes past four. He’s wearing jean cutoffs that stop just above his knee, leaving strands of denim straggling down, and a print shirt that looks like it cost half of one of Taeyong’s regular paychecks.

“You’re late,” Taeyong says as a greeting. Jungwoo smiles simperingly.

“Couldn’t get my date from last night to leave my place.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Gross.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Jungwoo sneers, gesturing for Taeyong to get up and start following him. “It was so hard for Mark back in high school to find someone to date that you hadn’t already slept with.”

Taeyong winces. Ah, right.

“Are you going to be that way once you get your head on--well, not _straight_ , but you know, once you get the hang of it?” Jungwoo has an eerie way of asking big questions in a way that seem harmless, his eyes glazed and seemingly uninterested as they head to the opening of a store.

“Um,” Taeyong rubs the back of his head. Honestly, the only reason he moved on so quickly with girls was the weird way he felt the whole time he was with them. His friends were obsessed with sex, and so was he, but he never felt like dating or having sex with one girl in particular. His brain rationalized it back then as the girl not being ‘the one’ or some other bullshit. And it was easy (since he was so, very obviously in the closet) to just cut and run to the next girl to see if maybe she could wake up some part of him that was just waiting for the right girl to show up. “No?”

“Interesting,” Jungwoo says. “Don’t start thinking about me that way, though. Got it?” It’s funny to see Jungwoo pulling himself to his full height--which is still several inches shorter than Taeyong--coming in with the intent of being threatening as he holds the door open for the two of them.

Taeyong holds back a snort, but just barely. Stranger things have happened, but he’s sure that he wouldn’t feel that way about Jungwoo if someone held a gun to his head.

The store that they enter is all white, which automatically makes Taeyong strangely calm with all the clean edges and empty corners. It seems to only sell men’s clothes, which Taeyong wasn’t even aware was a thing in America. Though, it has been an embarrassingly long time since he’s shopped anywhere that didn’t take coupons or operate on a strict bogo policy.

“Okay,” Jungwoo starts flipping through shirts, the screech of metal on metal echoing through the quiet. “Most styles will look good on you, since you’re like ridiculously skinny.” He shoots his head up to glare at Taeyong. “You _do_ eat, right?”

Taeyong curves in on himself a little, going to a sales rack to look through pants to keep his hands occupied. “I just dance a lot.”

Jungwoo grunts. “Right. Just look for pants with a high waist or a high ankle-hem. They’ll make your legs look longer. Any shirt will do. As long as it’s not, you know, like the one you’re wearing.”

A blip of annoyance builds in Taeyong’s chest. His old temper is hard to tamper down. He turns, his hands on his hips, jaw locking. “What the hell is wrong with my clothes?”

Jungwoo makes a show of dragging his eyes down, past Taeyong’s old Texas Rangers’ jersey, his ratty jeans, the Vans that he’s had since he was twenty--okay, yes, he’s hearing it. But it’s not like it’s a _bad_ look. It’s not falling off of him or riddled with stains or holes.

“Everything,” Jungwoo says evenly. “Every. Fucking. Thing.”

Taeyong scowls, dropping a pair of jeans back on the rack with a little too much force.

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I need all this stupid shit.”

Taeyong senses he’s done a Very Bad thing by the way Jungwoo’s neck seems to creak with how slowly he turns to look at him.

“Are you serious?” Jungwoo marches over, demanding Taeyong’s attention. “You think a few shirts and fitted jeans make you gay?” His lip twitches in Taeyong’s silence. “Dumbass. You could wear a garbage bag and be the truest, proudest queer on the block. But this is pretty symbolic, if you want to see it that way. This new stuff doesn’t make you _gayer_ or some shit like that. But you might feel a little better about yourself when you’re not wearing--” he pulls another disgusted face as he gestures to Taeyong’s outfit-- “whatever that is.”

The logic of it settles against Taeyong’s brain. There’s a linguistic theory that your environment can affect your language, and your language can influence your thought. Maybe clothes can do the same thing.

“I never thought of it that way,” he finally says, turning his eyes to the floor.

Jungwoo makes a satisfied huffing noise, and goes back to rummaging through stacks of clothes.

“It’s amazing what you can ignore when you convince yourself that you’re a big, bad hetero. Welcome to dressing up to just feel good.”

Taeyong doesn’t want to admit how nice this new philosophy makes him feel. He knows it’s not a new version of Taeyong in the mirror modeling the clothes, but he feels a little sleeker, a little--dare he say--sexier. It’s not like a switch was pulled and he suddenly feels like he can walk up to any guy and take him to bed, but he feels a little more confident.

He gets half a dozen shirts (on sale, because RIP his wallet) but Jungwoo convinces him to spurge on two pairs of hemmed slacks and fitted jeans that are retail price.

“You can just get them altered if trends change,” Jungwoo says while Taeyong is fighting back tears, his vision blurring as he signs his credit card receipt. “Pants are an investment, Yongie. Lesson number one.”

Lesson number one sounds like bullshit until Monday, when Taeyong walks into linguistics. The air is breezy around his exposed ankles, but Lucas’ tongue is nearly lolling out of his mouth when he scurries to clear a space for Taeyong to sit next to him.

 

* * *

 

 

A knock comes from the door of Johnny’s apartment just as Taeyong is shaking hot popcorn into a bowl. It sounds like Johnny trips on something in his bedroom, a loud thud shaking the floor before he calls out, “Fuck. Yongie, can you get that?”

Taeyong wipes his hands on his pants (sweatpants, Jungwoo, don’t worry) before padding over to open the door.

A guy, maybe a little younger than Taeyong, stands there. He looks a little peeved. He reminds Taeyong of a bunny, the way his nose twitches. It's cute. 

“Can you tell Johnny to stop jacking my Wifi?” the guy asks hotly.

Taeyong leans against the door jam, giving the guy a bored look. “Oh, so _you’re_ DoRaMeHarder96?”

“Focus,” the guy snaps. Something sparks in Taeyong's chest, anger biting up his spine, making him clench his fists. “I have a psych paper to upload in an hour and my connection better not be lagging because Johnny’s stealing my connection to host a circle jerk.”

Taeyong thinks this might be a prime opportunity to practice not being a dickhead, but something about this kid makes him wave at the opportunity as it passes by.

“Circle jerk? That’s rich, considering your username sounds like a pedophile on grindr.”

The guy looks like he’s going to pop, a steady deep red spreading from the tops of his ears.

“Just tell Johnny to get his own damn connection,” he eventually spits, turning on his heel and disappearing into the apartment next door. The annoyance of the encounter settles against the surface of Taeyong's skin, making him feel taut with the tension, before he breathes deep and it breaks, sinking back down, dormant. Taeyong grins to himself before closing the door. He snags the popcorn bowl and heads back to Johnny’s room. He’s recovered from whatever clutzy spell he was under and is booting up the X-Box to connect to his stolen internet.

“Your neighbor very respectfully asks you to find internet in a more legal manner,” Taeyong says in a monotone, scooping up a handful of popcorn.

Johnny’s head leans back, an annoyed groan reverberating from his throat.

“That bitch has been getting on my nerves ever since he moved in.”

“You _are_ stealing from him,” Taeyong says with a fairness that didn’t present itself in from of the actual victim of said theft.

“I’m _poor_ ,” Johnny wines. The X-Box logo makes washes the room with a white glow. Taeyong arches an eyebrow at him meaningfully. “I’m _lazy_ ,” Johnny clarifies.

Teayong grunts. It’s not like it’s his problem anyway.

“Have you found anyone to bring to the concert?” Johnny clicks through a dozen titles on Netflix without really seeing them.

Taeyong scratches his wrist. “This gay stuff is slow going,” he says honestly. Jungwoo had tests this week, and Taeyong has been trying to work up the courage to strike out on his own anyway. It is Hard.

Johnny tilts his head, side-eyeing Taeyong as if to determine if he’s pulling his leg or not.

“Dude, you know you don’t have to force yourself.” Johnny sits up straighter, tapping the remote against his thigh. “I mean. I’m sure it’s a, uh, change.”

Taeyong waves him off, warmth spreading in his chest from Johnny’s awkward concern. He’s already pretty set on figuring this stuff out, and having a deadline is a little stressful, but there’s a part of Taeyong that thrives on the anxious energy.

“Okay,” Johnny nods. “Good.” He looks at the Netflix screen. “Captain America okay?”

“The Winter Soldier is hotter,” Taeyong says, picking the rim of his nose.

A beat of silence. Then, Johnny bursts out laughing, throwing himself down on the floor. Taeyong jumps a little when Johnny rolls over, threatening to squish him.

“I mean to watch.” Johnny is wheezing, maybe asphyxiating on the hilarity he finds in the situation. Taeyong blushes furiously.

“Let me die first really quick.”

“You’re so gay,” Johnny chokes out around a laugh. He finally gets a hold of himself and presses play, the Marvel opening flashing in front of them. He reaches out to push Taeyong’s shoulders with his foot. “Dumbass.”

  


* * *

 

 

Taeyong officially flirts with a Human Male, and it does not end terribly. It does not end on a specularly good note either.

The guy that makes Taeyong’s order every other morning at the local coffee shop seems to glitch when he realizes Taeyong’s subtle leaning and inquiries about his schedule mean more than the usual small talk. After the barista dropped Taeyong’s cup into his hand from an almost dangerous height to avoid even the illusion of accidentally touching him, Taeyong got the message. He was meaning to find a place with better tasting coffee anyway.

He walks out onto the sidewalk before he fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket, scrolling until he finds Jungwoo’s thread of messages.

Jungwoo is in class but is very eager to hear all about it after Taeyong explains what happened.

**Taeyong: i’ll just stick with dressing nice and thinking about Marvel Men while I jerk off in the shower**

**Jungwho: i’m sure it wasn’t that bad.**

**Taeyong: he said he was flattered but he already had a girlfriend. And that was after he nearly dropped a coffee on me to avoid touching the Gay**

**Jungwho: that sucks :/**

**Jungwho: you just need to fine-tune your gaydar**

**Jungwho: omg! That’s it. Lesson number two**

**Taeyong: :/**

**Jungwho: :D**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i really wasn't expecting to be able to add another chapter so soon, but with only one easy final to worry about, I basically had all day to write. i'll make up for however brief it is in the Next Update, where things will start getting Juicy :-) thank you all for reading, and your feedback, whether in kudos or comment form, is always amazing!  
> (you can also talk to me on twitter if you want @mxnsxxk)


	3. Rookie of the Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taeyong Flirts, or Maybe He Doesn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Johnny's neighbor's screen name to be more on the level of a college boy who ill-advisedly let someone else set up their wifi, so enjoy that

Ten narrows his eyes over the rim of his beer. It’s a Wednesday; the bar is quiet, full of students lazily playing darts or sipping on ale as they work on assignments in the cozy lighting. It’s just past nine, and the Houston game is on, so Taeyong is amazed that Ten is even bothering to interact with anything besides the screen situated above the bar. 

“You got a gay  _ coach? _ ” His eyebrows are muddled together. 

Johnny grimances at the game. The Bulls aren’t doing his Chicago pride any good this season. 

“Why do you almost sound offended?” he asks, glancing over at Ten. “Did you want your name thrown into consideration?”

Ten pulls back an arm, miming a punch that doesn’t phase Johnny in the slightest. His eyes are already drifting back to the screen. 

“I was the first person you came out to,” Ten whines. “My input is invaluable.” 

“Have you ever had a gay thought?” Taeyong wonders aloud, throwing a beer nut into his mouth. 

“Who  _ hasn’t  _ had a gay thought?” Ten’s voice raises slightly; he sits up straighter, his jaw defiant. 

Johnny raises his hand. 

“Whatever.” Ten crosses his arms against the bar top to hide his face. Taeyong itches to get a wet wipe for him. The bar is way too sticky to be sanitary. “I’ll just live out my life, being replaced with some twink.”

Taeyong pats Ten on the back. 

“If it’s worth anything,” he says after a moment, “you’re the gayest straight guy I’ve probably ever met.”

Ten grunts. For some reason that works in the weird way some things just click with Ten. He sits up again and starts cheering and taunting Johnny every time the Rockets score, which means Johnny is severely annoyed by the end of the third quarter and ready to bite Ten’s head off. Taeyong laughs at the way that Ten keeps dancing away from Johnny’s swatting hand, and that’s a mistake, because it turns Johnny’s pre-teen levels of frustration on him. 

“That guy over in the corner hasn’t stopped staring at you for half an hour, you gay trainee.”

Taeyong immediately clams up, his face going what he knows is an unflattering shade of pink. 

“That was mean,” Ten admonishes Johnny. His eyes are narrowed and doing a hack job of glaring down Johnny and trying to gauge exactly who Taeyong’s supposed suitor might be. 

Taeyong thinks that maybe if he stares at the grungey bar top longer, the sheer intensity of his gaze might clean it. 

“Yo.” Taeyong nearly tumbles out of his barstool as Ten nudges him. “Go talk.”

“I hate talking,” Taeyong mumbles. 

“Go flirt.”

“I also hate flirting,” Taeyong says through his teeth. 

“You also might hate being alone for the rest of your life because you’re too chicken-shit as a gay man to get some.”

“That’s vaguely homophobic.” Taeyong scratches at his wrist. 

“You’d be over there in a second if it was a girl and you were still trying to prove to everyone how straight you were,” Ten says smartly. Johnny grunts in acknowledgement, his attention now largely re-taken by the game. “So aren’t  _ you _ being vaguely homophobic?”

Taeyong wants to roll his eyes and protest that that doesn’t make much sense, except that it does in a way. He  _ wouldn’t _ have had a problem a month ago when he was still closeted. OH, but now it  _ means _ something. Now it counts in a way that it didn’t before. 

“He’s spiraling,” Ten says, distressed. 

“You got his re-examining his sexual identity again.” Johnny sounds bored. “Taeyong, go buy that boy a drink or I swear to  _ God _ I will break into your desk and highlight  _ all  _ of your notes.”

Taeyong rips his eyes away from the bar. 

“You wouldn’t. Johnny, I have a  _ system _ \--”

Johnny really shouldn’t be as tall and muscular as he is. Taeyong might have a tiny bit of a crush on him, if he didn’t use his powers for evil. As it is, Taeyong  _ hates  _ the other boy as he pushes him off his seat and frog marches him to the other end of the bar. 

Taeyong still can’t force himself to look in front of him, but he does hear Johnny say, with only a sliver of violence, “This is my buddy, Taeyong. He is most certainly a homo, and will be talking to you for the duration of the Bulls-Rockets’ game. If he wanders back before then, I will commit a great act of violence on him, you, and your little buddies.”

A beat of silence ensues, and Taeyong finally manages to look in front of him. 

It’s Lucas. Taeyong almost lets out a noise like he’s been punched. Because how could Lucas be  _ here _ of all nights, in this bar of all places, and he’s got this dopey grin on his face that makes his eyes sparkle and his cheeks bunch up--

“You’d think he’d realize who I was,” a voice says sourly. Taeyong manages to look away from Lucas’s shining face for a moment before his shoulders do the equivalent of a cartoon flower wilting. One of the other two people at the table who are Not Lucas is DoRaMeHarder96, Johnny’s annoying little asshole of a neighbor. 

“Who are you?” Lucas says in confusion, leaning on his elbows to look at the other guy. The one in the middle, a sweet-looking kid, is trying very valiantly to not let it show on his face how weird the last twenty seconds must have been for him. 

“Johnny’s neighbor,” the kid says, throwing a look at Taeyong like  _ he’s  _ the one who single handedly build the apartment, coaxed Johnny into signing a lease agreement, and laid in wait until DoRaMeHarder96 wandered into the complex, doe-eyed and completely innocent.

“Yeah.” Taeyong’s face burns with embarrassment. Any luck he’s found in Lucas being the one eyeing him up all night is wasted on this dick being present. 

But then Lucas saves the moment, turning back to Taeyong with interest pooling in his eyes. 

“I didn’t know you were gay, Taeyong,” he says. Taeyong wants to pat Lucas on the head and maybe kiss him. God, he’s so adorable. 

“I came out recently, actually.” Taeyong says, a smile flickering on his lips. It’s funny how he tensed up when it was first acknowledged out loud, but give it a little time and now he’s almost preening with pleasure with how Lucas seems surprised but in a good way. Maybe after a couple of decades, Taeyong will have half the confidence that Jungwoo has. 

“Oh, how exciting,” Lucas says, turning to his friends. DoRaMeHarder96 is rolling his eyes, and that irks Taeyong a little, but he forgets it the moment that Lucas starts chatting again. 

“This is Renjun,” he says, nudging the slightly-uncomfortable looking friend in the middle. “And ‘Johnny’s neighbor’ is only Dongyoung’s street name.”

“Doyoung, if you must,” he says airily. Taeyong wants to call him Dongyoung just out of spite, but after referring to him as his screen handle for so long in his head, Taeyong will take any excuse to cut down the amount of letters he has to remember. 

“So,” Lucas says. “How are things going on the cross-cultural project?”

The other two blink in vague interest, and Renjun volunteering that he just switched his major and is going to take the class in the fall. Taeyong wants to scream, because of course Lucas is the sweet-type to keep the topics tame for the sake of his friends. 

“I’m trying to find research on the trends of Japanese loan-words in Korean. But a lot of the data is from Korean-language journals.”

Lucas’s eyes widen. “Doyoung, aren’t you trying to do the same thing in your Asian Studies class?”

Taeyong turns to Doyoung, eyeing him warily. Not that Taeyong is quick to judge (okay, he’s working on it) but Doyoung has the personality of a jammed printer. Not exactly the type to study differing cultures. 

“I’m doing Chinese root words,” Doyoung says with patience, and Taeyong gets the feeling he’s had to explain this many times. 

Does Taeyong know that Chinese is a language that has shaped not only his native tongue, but also those of many Asian countries with an unmeasurable importance? Yes. But something about Doyoung makes his skin itch at the chance of annoying him.

“So, boring shit,” Taeyong says simply.

Lucas chokes on his sip of beer, Renjun presses his lips together to keep from smiling, and Doyoung...oh, it’s glorious. Doyoung is gripping the neck of his bottle so hard that Taeyong is surprised that it hasn’t shattered. 

“You…” Doyoung is so mad that it’s making his eyes bulge. “You--have. The...the  _ nerve _ ? Boring--”

Taeyong is shocked from his pleasure at Ten’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey kiddo, did you play nice?” He sees Doyoung glitching. “Aw. You broke him.” He pauses, looking to Lucas of all people as he says, “Isn’t that Johnny’s rude as fuck neighbor?”

Renjun breaks into hysterics, cackling and leaning away from the table. Doyoung might actually be having a brain aneurysm. 

A deep warmth flows through Taeyong at the sight, and he feels a little like his old self (minus the posing and the chasing skirts part) as he looks at Lucas and gives him a friendly wink. “It was nice running into you. See you in class on Friday.”

Lucas waves weakly after him, and Taeyong feels triumphant over Renjun’s continued laughter, interjected occasionally by him crowing, “This is the greatest Wednesday of my life.”

“Is everything okay?” Johnny says in concern as the push past the doors. He is only slightly sulky about the game, which Taeyong commends him for. 

“Fine,” Taeyong says. “Better than fine.” He got Lucas to smile at him and ask about his classes and even wave shyly to him as he left. It sounds like something an elementary schooler would be proud of when he runs through the list in his head again, but he still feels warm and nice, so he’ll take it. 

  
  


* * *

 

Jungwoo has had Taeyong’s phone for twenty-three minutes, and Taeyong is beginning to sweat. 

“Are you almost--”

“Please,” Jungwoo says, holding one hand up while continuing to type with his opposite thumb, “I’m doing God’s work.”

Taeyong is ninety-seven percent sure that if he asked any of the ahjummas at their old neighborhood church, getting your friend to make a Grindr for you on a Friday night would not constitute “God’s work”. But Taeyong doesn’t say that, because Jungwoo is starting to grow on him a lot. 

It takes another five minutes for Jungwoo to toss Taeyong his phone, cracking his neck as he throws himself against the couch. 

“I’m a genius,” he says, stretching. Taeyong smacks the slice of belly that shows when his shirt rides up. 

Taeyong unlocks his phone, and squints at the profile that pops up. The photo Jungwoo chose is from a stupid photoshoot his dance group did last semester: his eyes are lined and he’s wearing a big men’s shirt with nearly all the buttons opened. In the midst of promoting for the Autumn Moon Dance Festival, he had thought he looked hot, but in retrospect, he just looks boney. 

Taeyong scans the text and lets out an offended scoff before reading out loud, “‘Asian Twink. No Rice Queens need apply. Looking for a good debate and bed partner.’ What the fuck is a Rice Queen?”

Jungwoo picks his nose as he opens the app on his own phone. “Tools who only wanna screw Asian dudes.” 

“One, gross. Two, why did you put me down for dating, hook-ups, and  _ networking _ ?”

“Dude, one of my friends landed an internship through that app, don’t judge.”

Taeyong looks at his phone in neutral anguish. Why did his dick have to get him into this mess? His phone vibrates in his hand, a message scrolling over the top of the notifications bar that has an inappropriate amount of winky-faces and tongue emojis. 

“Dude, what did you do?”

“I liked some cute guys around campus,” Jungwoo says easily, ignoring the dramatic inhale that Taeyong takes. “You’re not getting any younger.”

Taeyong swallows loudly. Jungwoo did some  _ work _ in the time that he had Taeyong’s phone. There are at least fifteen guys in Taeyong’s inbox, all clamouring for his attention. 

He deletes the ones without any faces in their profiles (Jungwoo’s definition of ‘cute’ apparently is very lenient) and the messages that sound like a comment on a PornHub video. It leaves about four guys.

“How’s it going?” Jungwoo nudges Taeyong’s shoulder with his forehead about half an hour later. 

“It’s uh, fine.” One guy is begging for a coffee date, and another is trying his best to redirect the conversation to dick pics and the possibility of Taeyong sending one immediately.

“Tough,” Jungwoo says, scanning the messages of dick-pic boy. “I mean, this could be promising.”

“Then  _ you  _ message him.”

“I am,” Jungwoo says smugly, turning his phone to show a long thread of texts. 

“Whore,” Taeyong says without much malice. 

“Green doesn’t suit you.”

“Neither does this online shit,” Taeyong whines. 

“I forget grandpa Tae likes his connections in real-life, with  _ meaning _ .”

Taeyong turns his nose up, his hands starting to dig into the cushions for the remote. There’s a special on Chinese tombs that he’s been meaning to watch on the discovery channel. He’s probably going to delete the stupid app after Jungwoo leaves. 

“I just,” Taeyong coughs, “I might have a connection already.”

Jungwoo jerks up violently, knocking into Taeyong’s knees. 

“Excuse me? Exactly when were you planning on telling me?”

Taeyong tries very hard to not think of Lucas’s smile, or the sweet lilt to his voice when he’d thanked Taeyong for saving a seat for him in class earlier in the day. 

“Are you gonna make a move?” Jungwoo is practically vibrating from his spot on the floor. 

“I guess?” 

“Do you want me to…” the hairs on the back of Taeyong’s neck stand up when the ghost of hot breath blows against his ear. “ _ Show you?” _

Taeyong shoves Jungwoo’s head away, and he winds up on the carpet, cackling at Taeyong’s mortified expression. 

“Shut up,” Taeyong hisses at the lump on the floor, ignoring any kind of affection that bubbles up at the sight of Jungwoo’s cheeks squished up in mirth. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Jungwoo sing-songs. He picks his nose again when the narrator’s voice from the documentary fills the apartment. “Never mind, maybe you do.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Lucas is especially smiley in class on Monday, which makes Taeyong smiley, but on the inside. He adjusts the new hoodie he bought with Johnny over the weekend, the one with zippers and extra garish material sewn on the sleeves that make it look like a mess he’d see on the street in Hongdae. 

“Hey,” Lucas says, “you know that indie coffee house on eighth street? Wanna go around seven?”

Taeyong chews his gum for a moment, as if he’s mulling it over. 

“Is it, like a date?”

Lucas blinks in surprise, his cute cheeks coloring for a second. 

“Yeah! It’s a date.”

“Then I accept,” Taeyong says, turning his head to the front of the classroom even though the professor is still setting up the powerpoint. He counts his breaths, remains calm. 

“Sweet.” Lucas’s beam is visible even in Taeyong’s peripherals. He takes out his phone, typing like a madman into what seems like a groupchat with the amount of responses that make his phone buzz. 

Taeyong tries his hardest to keep himself from wiggling in his seat. Coffee. A coffee-date with Lucas. God, he’s too lucky.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so far just a character study basically, but I promise, the love interest is fully revealed next and we'll get the 'getting together' party going

**Author's Note:**

> This is also a first for me, because I'm going to do chapters and updates which I haven't done in y e a r s but this journey demands it. Thank you for reading! All your feedback is super appreciated~


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